


Live Wire.

by asailoratheart



Category: Maksyl-Fandom
Genre: F/M, Maks POV, Maks treats her like a queen..., Maksyl, Meryl knows she can handle whatever he gives her, Well not raunchy smut but smut still the same, here be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-03
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:52:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1733456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asailoratheart/pseuds/asailoratheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maks loves his little live wire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live Wire.

**Author's Note:**

> Based off the anon prompt I was given on Tumblr: ‘Anything smutty. Pleasepleaseplease. I’m desperate.’
> 
> Well, my idea of writing smut isn’t your normal style, so hopefully this still piques your interest. Enjoy!

It happens every time.

They kiss and it’s like being zapped by a lightning bolt, the jolt nearly knocking him on his ass. The taste of her, bright on his tongue, infiltrating his senses is like nothing he’s experienced before. He’s kissed his fair share of women, sure, but no one has the effect on him that she does.

Her skin feels like silk the first time, he almost hesitates in touching her…too scared he’ll mar her porcelain skin. Tender touches to  _breasts, legs, inner thighs_  elicit the sweetest sounds he’s ever had the pleasure of hearing.  _Hearing, feeling, seeing_  her break apart and shudder under his fingertips is almost too much, fills him with male pride ( _he did that to her, **him**_ ). He loves that she’s so responsive and lets him bring her over the edge  _over and over and…_ it feels like a sin to touch her, to have his  _fingers,_   _tongue, cock_  between thighs that are both soft and strong.

But then she fists a hand in his hair, arching and writhing, desperate…

He loses his train of thought…

She is demanding. Tells him  _‘No, no…harder. Please Maks, please….’_  in a breathy voice girded by steel and the need to have him  _claim_  her. In the moment, he stills…shocked that this tender, creamy, utterly breakable woman is telling him to take her, make her his. ( _In hindsight, he is glad.)_  She takes and absorbs and gives it back in equal measure.

His toes curl, her breath stutters.

He smiles at the bruises he's left the next morning, his mark  screaming  _mine!_ , and knows he bears his far share as well.

It’s never routine— _hard, slow, soft, fast_ —and it never bores him. The princess, ever the media’s darling with perfect responses, is rendered speechless time and time again. He knows what she wants and needs and craves to make her fall  _apart._  He teases her, endlessly, to the point of tipping, making her beg him  _‘please Maks, please…”_  Sometimes he’ll let her fall, other times he’ll keep her on the edge, fingers and tongue brushing lazily over her clit, until she takes control.

He revels in her, lips quirked in a smirk when she tells him to lie back as she straddles him…

The rest is a haze...

He loves her. Every facet, old and new, that she shows him. But he thinks—maybe he loves her a little more in the aftershocks,  _gasping, wet, spent, draped_ over him, cuddled in his arms.

_"So," she asks, coyly, dragging fingertips across his chest, "can we do that again?"_

Oh yes, he loves his little live wire.


End file.
